very sweet of you to wear it.’
Patrick shrugged. ‘I’m a sweet guy.’
Miranda blinked, breaking the spell. Sweet was not how she would describe him. Sexy, charismatic, masculine. Sweet was too … passive for him.
She took a sip of her wine. ‘So … Ruby … that’s your daughter?’
Patrick nodded, grateful to Miranda for pulling them back from the edge. He barely knew her yet there was something very hypnotic about her. She was sitting in a bar at close to midnight in jeans, sneakers and a navy V-neck sweater—like Cinderella after the ball. She wasn’t loud or effusive like the table full of women over near the window. She wasn’t flashing a lot of skin or leaning in close and flirting.
If anything, there was a reserve about her that was intriguing. On the one hand she blushed like a girl but on the other she sat with quiet dignity of a woman well beyond her years.
‘Yes.’ He smiled when he realised she was waiting for an answer. ‘She’s five in January.’
‘Oh. Lola’s five then too.’
Patrick raised his glass to her. ‘A good year for babies, obviously.’
He pulled out his wallet and showed Miranda a picture he’d snapped a couple of weeks ago as Ruby had been running around the yard, trying to catch bubbles.
Miranda smiled at the laughing, rosy-cheeked redhead. ‘Cute. I can see why you called her Ruby. Does she take after her mother?’
Patrick nodded, caught up for a moment in those first few seconds his daughter had come into the world. ‘She has Katie’s hair.’
‘Katie’s your wife?’ Miranda asked casually, suddenly afraid to hear the answer. When he shook his head the need to clarify drove her to ask, ‘You’re not married?’
Patrick looked down at his bare left hand, absently stroking the place where his wedding band, gone for almost three years now, had sat. ‘Not any more.’
Miranda, conscious of the occasional brush of his arm and the heat radiating from his thigh to hers, almost sagged against him in relief. She may not be experienced at picking up men in bars and it certainly hadn’t been her intention when she’d come to the symposium but she was pretty sure there was an undercurrent between them.
An undercurrent she probably would never have explored under normal circumstances. But Lola was at a sleepover and, thanks to the generosity of her grandmother, she was staying the night at a swanky hotel.
Also, she was extraordinarily attracted to Patrick Costello. And if she wasn’t very much mistaken, the feeling was mutual.
This wasn’t some seventeen-year-old-girl crush. This was all grown up. And she wanted it. Her pulse tripped at the thought of doing something a little reckless for a change.
She drained the remnants of her glass. Maybe she could have one crazy night?
‘Would you like another wine?’ he asked.
Miranda met his gaze, felt it rove over her face and settle on her mouth. She’d been a single mother since she was seventeen. She wasn’t up on the rules of this situation but the part of her that was female, that responded to his maleness, knew that another wine implied much more than just a second glass.
If she was sensible, she’d walk away right now.
But she was so tired of always being sensible.
She lifted her chin and looked straight into his golden-brown eyes. ‘Yes, please.’
They stayed in the bar for another hour talking about their kids and Miranda couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. Patrick regaled her with funny anecdotes about Ruby’s lisp and she told him about Bud, Lola’s goldfish, who regularly died, usually just after Lola went to bed, and was reincarnated the next morning thanks to the local pet shop.
‘I’m not joking,’ Miranda said as his deep laugh drew her closer and closer. ‘I have Kevin from the Pet Connection on speed dial.’
By tacit agreement neither of them strayed into personal territory about their circumstances but she did gather that Ruby was with him full time and his ex-wife didn’t seem to be around. Also that he had permanent live-in help, which sounded like bliss to Miranda. Her grandmother was wonderful but she was getting on and Miranda had been so gung-ho proving she could raise her child by herself that she hadn’t leaned on anyone more than had been absolutely necessary.
But for all their chatter, Miranda had the strangest feeling that she and Patrick were just marking time. There’d been a sense of inevitability to the night since he’d walked into the bar and it tugged more insistently as the minutes ticked by. But she liked it that he wasn’t rushing her back to his room. It felt kind of old-fashioned—in a modern way—and gave him another layer of sexy.
But her yawn at somewhere past midnight spoiled the build-up. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised, covering her mouth. ‘I’m normally passed out cold by nine o’clock.’
He groaned. ‘I envy you. I feel like I haven’t had a decent sleep since Ruby came along.’
Patrick had enjoyed talking with her. He liked her entertaining stories and easy laugh. He liked how relaxed he felt. He liked how she hadn’t outwardly flirted but he still knew she was into him. He also liked it that any other woman would have jumped in and said ‘I can help you with your sleep situation’ but Miranda had just smiled at him.
‘Shall we go?’ he asked, his voice surprisingly husky.
Miranda nodded. ‘Yes.’
They didn’t talk as they walked through the bar and across the lobby. They didn’t exchange a word as they waited for the lift. Or even inside the lift. Although Patrick leaned on the opposite wall and didn’t take his eyes off her for a second. Miranda’s belly went into freefall but she held his gaze, anticipation pumping her heart rate higher.
The lift doors opened and he said, ‘Yours or mine?’ as he ushered her out.
‘Mine,’ she replied.
She knew zip about one-night stands but she’d heard enough staffroom chatter from other nurses to know she really did not want to be the one doing the walk of shame in the morning.
Patrick stopped outside the door and turned to her. ‘Key?’
Miranda reached into her back pocket, slid the piece of plastic out and handed it over. He went to take it but, suddenly nervous, Miranda didn’t let go for a moment. He raised an eyebrow. ‘You okay?’
The question was low and slid into all the places that were suddenly reminding her how good it felt to be touched. ‘I don’t … usually do this,’ she murmured.
Patrick smiled. ‘I figured.’ He watched her looking at the door, obviously torn. ‘Would it help to know that I don’t either?’
Miranda smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘We don’t have to do this, Miranda.’
She blinked at him, searching
